That's Not My Waterloo
by Terminal Nostalgia
Summary: 'I know you're trained to resist torture. I also know you're the one with the answers I want. You'll break eventually. But I think a little extra incentive might be required.' When an organisation wants answers out of Spy, they turn to hurting a team mate to get results. Except, they might have made a small mistake with the team they chose to kidnap someone from...
1. Chapter 1

**(Like most of my stuff this is unbetad so apologies for any spelling mistakes or other errors you might find.)**

The problem with only having one small town nearby was that sometimes awkward encounters like this happened.

There was only a single decent place to get a drink there and all the RED Spy wanted was a quick self-congratulatory glass of red wine for a job well done. Instead his good mood was entirely spoiled by the sight of the BLU Sniper sitting at the bar.

Spy's eyes darted around the room, looking for more BLUs but the Sniper seemed to be the only one around. He'd risk it. No reason to let the filthy jarman ruin everything. He chose a stool as far away as possible from his enemy, but the bar was small and there was no one else between them. The Sniper tilted his head back to take a swig from what appeared to be his fourth drink of the evening, if the other bottles were anything to go by. He must have caught sight of a flash of red in his peripheral vision because he froze with the bottle still pressed to his lips. He put it down carefully and like Spy, surreptitiously checked for more enemy team mates. Finding yourself alone in the middle of town at night and surrounded by enemies never ended well. That was a lesson both of them had learnt the hard way..

Seeing that the Spy was by himself this time, the BLU Sniper's lips twisted into a sneer.

Spy ignored him altogether as he hailed the the passing barman with a raise of his hand. The barman took Spy's order but kept glancing between him and the glowering BLU.

'We will remain civil,' Spy promised. Then he turned towards the Sniper and said, 'Wont we, bushman?' Across from him the barman tensed. He'd had a lot of his property destroyed by the two teams over the years. He didn't try and kick either of them out though. For one thing, the mercenaries tended to leave excellent tips and for another, they were _mercenaries._ Besides, their employers always paid for repairs. All the same, it could get rather frightening when things got heated between them. Especially if either of those flamethrower fellas were involved.

'You know,' Spy said with disarming casualness as he waited for his drink to be served, 'I wouldn't have thought this would be your kind of place at all, bushman.'

The Sniper's only response was the subtle clench of his jaw.

'Surely, I don't know, the Hangman's Noose would be more suitable?'

The Hangman's Noose was an establishment trying and failing miserably to be an old English style pub in the middle of New Mexico.

The Sniper frowned. 'That place is a shithole.'

'Yes,' Spy agreed, taking a delicate sip from the wine glass he'd just received. It was a very loaded 'yes' that Spy left up to the Sniper to interpret for himself.

'Surprised to see you in this place myself.'

'Oh?'

'Yeah. Way you and your Sniper disappeared off for so long this time I thought you must have both finally eloped. Or died.'

'Aww, Bushman, you've missed me! How sweet.' Spy's voice was pitched in exactly the sickly-sweet way he knew would irritate the Sniper the most.

'No I fucking didn't.' The pleasant tipsy haze the marksman had been enjoying up until the enemy Spy arrived had dispersed entirely, leaving him to reflect on how unpleasantly strange this situation was. Him and the RED Spy never talked to each other unless it was insults traded along with punches and kicks or promises of revenge gasped out with dying breaths. Just sitting here at a bar needling at each other with barbed comments was an unwelcome change. He tried to pinpoint exactly why. It was probably because it meant he couldn't kill the man. Then again, they weren't on the battlefield currently. He could always just kill the bastard off once and for all, consequences be damned.

To distract himself from that appealing thought and the Spy's presence, he took another swig of his disappointing lager.

The Spy couldn't leave well enough alone though. 'Tell me, Bushman, how have you been finding my temporary replacement? I expect it's practically been a holiday for you without me here.'

Honestly, it had. The RED Spy and Sniper they drafted in whenever the usual two were away were nowhere near as skilled. He wasn't going to let the Spy know that though.

'Eh, 'bout the same really. He doesn't know the map so well though so I guess he's been at a disadvantage. That other Sniper's shit though. I've put so many bullets through his brain you could probably hear them rattling around in that empty head of his if you gave him a good enough shake.'

He glanced sideways at the Spy to gauge his reaction. All he saw was a sardonic, disbelieving little smile on the man's face which was compete bullshit because that second bit had been practically true.

'Where you guys been anyway?' he said to change the subject. 'My team, and by the sounds of it, half your team as well, has a bet going on that you and your Sniper keep disappearing off so you can bang him. Well, actually, the best money's on the other way round.'

The Spy just raised one arched brow and took a sip of his wine. He paused to contemplate the glass thoughtfully for an infuriatingly long time before saying, 'As much as I believe that the good things in life should be... savoured, even I wouldn't take three weeks out to "bang" a team mate, if I were so inclined that way. No, our employers have simply been assigning us to some more interesting and challenging missions than this petty little war. I'm afraid to tell you though that it's on a strictly need-to-know basis. And you, dear bushman, simply don't need to know.'

The Sniper's grip on his bottle tightened as he fought the urge to glass the skinny little bastard right there and then. The only response he could think to give was a small shrug as he tried to hide how much the Spy was getting to him. It was a waste of time. The Spy always knew somehow.

Just as Spy opened his mouth to say something else mocking, five rowdy men pushed their way into the bar. He protectively moved his wine glass closer as the men jostled up against him, all apparently too intent on joking among themselves and trying to get the barman's attention to notice the masked man sitting there.

Then one bumped against him and almost knocked his glass over. Their hand shot out and caught it just before it spilled everywhere; a surprising show of good reflexes for a man who was swaying drunkenly.

'Eh, sorry,' he slurred, 'Sorry 'bout that. Here's yeh drink.'

Spy plucked it out of the man's fat hands with a small nod of thanks and an irritable expression on his face. It was hard to tell, but on the other side of the bar it sounded like the BLU Sniper was having similar problems if his shout of, 'Oi!' was anything to go by.

Spy sighed and raised his glass back to his lips. Now his good mood had been ruined, the mediocre wine seemed to taste even more bitter than before.

It was only a couple of minutes before Spy started to get a headache. This bar could usually be rallied on to maintain a relatively low sound level. But these strangers appeared to have no respect for the other clientele. That was the problem with groups of people drinking together; everyone egged each other on and had increasingly loud and boisterous conversations as the drinks went down.

Spy decided to give up and just finish his drink and leave. The Sniper seemed to have had a same idea. He stumbled past Spy, looking grumpy.

'Over-indulged, have we, bushman?'

The marksman glared at him blearily. 'Surr'up. Haven't even had that much, not that much... not that much to drink.'

'Of course you haven't,' Spy replied with a smirk. He watched the Sniper make his unsteady way out of the room. Almost immediately, two of the newcomers made noisy excuses to leave as well. Spy was curious. Was it just a coincidence, or were the men looking for trouble? That would be amusing to watch.

He tipped back the last of his wine and made to follow. The stressful mission he and the RED Sniper had just returned from must have got to him more than he realised. He felt lethargic and unusually unbalanced on his feet. Maybe he should stay in one of the local hotels rather than return to the base that night. Spy wasn't sure if he was in any state to drive. Though he hadn't any worries for himself if he crashed, he didn't fancy risking damage to his red lamborghini miura.

Either way, the night air would clear his head and seeing two drunk men trying to mug or fight the BLU Sniper would cheer him up immensely.

Spy only got a couple of steps outside the building when the whole world began to pitch and sway. He tried to keep moving forward but found himself veering straight into a nearby wall.

'Whuuu?' This wasn't right. This wasn't right at all.

He'd been drugged.

The terrible realisation shot through him just as a pair of strong hands grabbed hold of him from behind. Spy tried to shake them off, but his movements were sluggish and weak.

There was no time for him to do anything more before the darkness eating away at the edge of his vision consumed it entirely, plunging him into unconsciousness.

Him came back around in fits and starts, his brain registering tiny fractions of his situation at a time.

 _Cold._

 _Head hurts._

 _Sitting down._

 _Can't move legs._

 _Can't move arms._

 _Head really hurts._

 _God, I feel like throwing up_

 _Something's wrong_

 _Don't throw up._

 _Head hurts._

 _Cold._

Spy pried open his heavy eyelids to try and help him piece it all together. The image that met his gaze was not a promising one.

He was in a damp room lit by a single dim bulb dangling from a tangle of exposed wires. Underground by the looks of it. Grey breeze-block walls. Dusty spider webs clinging to the corners. A concrete floor.

There was an empty chair bolted down by metal plating and screws. They looked new, incongruously bright and shiny in this bleak little room. There were thick leather straps hanging from the chair.

Spy flexed his arms and felt restraints pull at his wrists and elbows. Looks like he had a matching set.

A quick glance around the room made his head hurt more than ever, but it revealed that he was all alone. Spy tested his bonds one by one, searching for a loose tie he could use to help him escape. There were none. The only things he could move freely were his fingers and head. Everything else was strapped down so tightly that he could already feel his feet going numb. Or maybe that was just a side effect of whatever drug had been slipped into his drink. Because that was the only viable conclusion to draw. Someone had put something in his wine.

Who?

Not the bartender, he made too much money off the mercs to want to lose their patronage in such a dramatic fashion.

His thoughts jumped to the BLU Sniper. Was this him finally getting revenge for all those backstabs? The muted panic Spy had been trying to keep down bubbled up inside him. There was really no telling what that man might do if he had the RED Spy trapped and vulnerable, entirely at his mercy.

Except, this really wasn't the Sniper's style. He was much more direct and to the point. He wasn't this devious, and he certainly wasn't this clever.

Which meant that a third, unknown party must have him. Those men at the bar. They'd been involved, hadn't they?

Whoever it was, they left him long enough for fear of the unknown to really settle in. But Spy was tough. He'd been trained to handle these kinds of situations. He could cope for however long it took for someone to come looking, which he knew they must do. His employers had been expecting him to phone in soon and he was nothing if not reliable and punctual. They'd know something was wrong. They'd come looking for him. Probably.

Spy tensed as he heard footsteps approaching. Heavy, lazy steps down a flight of stairs and across a short corridor, by the sounds of it. A key grated in a lock and a door behind Spy opened, light flooding in around him. He squinted over his shoulder at the man framed in the doorway. A stranger. Broad-shouldered and muscular. Dressed in a suit that was wasn't quite the right size and cut for him.

The man slammed the door shut behind him; the sudden return to dim-lighting disorientating Spy for a moment. But it didn't matter. He could cope.

The man walked slowly over to Spy and paused right behind him. He placed on hand on the back of the chair and leaned on it, his bulk making the wood beneath him groan. Spy refused to be intimidated.

'Is this how you go about meeting new people?' he asked. 'Drugging them and tying them up? If so I'm afraid it says very little for your social skills.'

A low chuckle came from the man behind him. 'Bravado. How predictable. Now, Mr Conover, I represent a group of people who were rather... _upset_ at the recent disruption you caused by murdering one of their associates.'

Jonathan Conover. His cover name from the mission before last. Him and Sniper had thought they'd finished the head of that organisation off. Now it was sounding more as though they'd just gone and cut off one head of the hydra. This was interesting information. Spy just wasn't looking forward to what was going to happen before he had a chance to pass it along.

'One of my employers has found himself having to admit that he's rather impressed with how smoothly you and your partner acted. However, I'm afraid that you left a few too many clues behind to escape altogether.'

Spy's mind raced from possibility to possibility. What had they done to lead the enemy right back to them? Or more likely, what had Sniper done?

'And now my employers have a few questions they've asked me to get out of you. And trust me, I will.'

Spy fought the impulse to say something cliché like, 'do your worst!' or, 'I'll never talk!.'

Instead he just said, 'You know, tying me to a chair really doesn't put me in a very chatty mood, I'm afraid. Not really my kind of thing. Now, if you tied me to a bed with two or three pretty girls in the room, that might get me talking.'

'Hmm.' The man almost sounded amused. 'You know, we've been doing some digging on you, Mr. Conover. Or should we say, "Spy"?'

He refused to let any reaction show on his face. What more did they know that they shouldn't?

'I know you're trained to resist torture. I also know you're the one with the answers I want. So this leaves me with a bit of a predicament on my hands, doesn't it? You'll break eventually. They always do, but I think that with you, a little extra incentive might be required.'

Spy's mind leapt through the horrible possibilities. What ever it was, he could cope. He could handle this. He was sure.

The man leant in closer until Spy caught an odd scent of peppermint, and said right behind his ear, 'If torturing you gets me no answers, how about I start with your partner instead?'

Despite himself, something flipped over in Spy's stomach. Him and Sniper had always been known as the two REDs with the stormiest relationship. After working together on so many other little missions though, they'd been forced to grudgingly accept each other's strengths and talents. It had taken a long time for things to shift that much but it was the unfortunate truth that somehow along the lines he'd started to actually _care_ about the Australian. Not in the manner the crude rumours suggested, but in a strong enough way that it was a weakness waiting to be exploited all the same.

He could cope with this though. Right?

The man left the room without another word and all Spy could so was sit there and worry while trying really hard not to.

Soon, more footsteps reached his ears and the sound of a scuffle. Maybe Sniper was escaping? That would be nice; Spy could really do with a bit of rescuing right now. Not that he'd ever let Sniper know that the situation wasn't exactly under control though.

But then there was a thud and a muffled cry of pain and the dull _thump thump thump_ of something being dragged down the stairs. Spy winced. That had to hurt. And by the sounds of it, it was only the start of worse things to come.

The broad-shouldered man led the way as he and two other men entered the room. Spy wouldn't crane his neck around to look. He refused to show vulnerability.

'Now,' the man said, 'this is how things will go. I am going to ask you a question, and if you don't answer me or I don't like what I hear, your friend here is going to face the consequences. So it's up to you, does your partner suffer for your silence or not?'

Spy said nothing.

'Tie him up.'

The two men dragged Sniper into view and dumped him into the chair. He slumped down, boneless and weak while they dragged his limbs into place and yanked the leather restraints over him tightly.

Spy could tell that the Sniper was concious by the small, pained groans escaping him.

And Spy could see, even in the dim light, that he was dressed in blue.

Relief flooded through him.

They were going to torture the wrong Sniper.


	2. Chapter 2

**Quick heads up that this chapter might not be everyone's cup of tea as it contains torture and gratuitous violence. You have been warned.**

* * *

It's surprisingly difficult to kill someone with a small knife. Spy knew this from personal experience. It was why he valued his sleek little butterfly knife over the great big kukris snipers tended to use. His backstabs took so much more skill and precision then their crude melee kills.

That's why he watched the man so warily, even though he wasn't the one in any immediate danger.

The knife the man had produced was only about two inches long, but there was a little half moon piece taken out of the underside near the tip. It left a slight hook to end, one that would be perfect for piercing through skin and dragging across flesh.

This wasn't a weapon meant to kill. It was intended to maim.

He snapped his fingers and the two men who'd dragged Sniper into place retreated to stand a metre or so behind him, their hands crossed behind their backs and their expressions blank.

Interesting. So he was keeping his lackeys around. Was he expecting to need more than ropes to keep his captives in check, or was it all part of the intimidation routine? It was going to make rescue a little bit more difficult for whoever was coming to get him. (Because they had to be, right?) But there was one good thing about it. With two other men present, there was less chance the following torture was going to involve sexual assault. Thugs weren't known for their positive attitudes towards homosexual activities, after all. And as much as Spy hated the enemy Sniper, that was one form of violence he would never wish upon him.

The broad-shouldered man circled around the BLU Sniper, watching him drag himself upright in his chair and pull at his restraints. It was clear that either the drug or a blow to the head had addled him, but he was coming around fast.

It wouldn't be long before it began.

'As I am sure you've noticed, I've taken the liberty of gagging your friend here. This isn't the first time I've had to use these means to get information for a client you see, and I find the heroic cries of, "No, don't tell him anything!" and "I can handle this!" even more annoying than the screaming and begging that always follows.' He paused besides Sniper, watching him struggle.

Spy didn't respond. Secretly he was glad of the gag. With it, the Sniper wouldn't be able to give away that he was the wrong man. Chances were, his claims wouldn't be believed anyway, but they'd likely raise extra questions Spy didn't want to add to his list of ones to avoid.

Besides, the Sniper wouldn't want to go and accidentally spill BLU's secrets, would he? He should be glad of the gag, really.

Across from Spy, the marksman stared at him with a muddled, confused look on his face. There was an edge of fear there too. It wasn't an expression that Spy was used to seeing. That, combined with his current lack of wide-brimmed hat and aviators made the Sniper look much less gruff and intimidating than usual.

'So,' the man, stopping next to the Sniper. 'Lets begin, shall we?'

Spy braced himself for a barrage of questions.

Instead, the man slid his fingers under the Sniper's jaw and forced his head up until their eyes met. 'Hello. I'm Mr White,' he said pleasantly, ' and I will be your torturer for this evening.'

If was intended as a joke, not even his two guards laughed.

'If you wish me to stop at any point in time, do make sure you say, "stop" for me nice and clearly, wont you?'

Mr White held the knife up close to the marksman's face so he could get a good look at it. The Sniper's eyes widened and he tried to pull away, but the interrogator kept him still. He smiled as he ran the knife straight across the Australian's nose and cheek, and ear. Blood bubbled up and spilt over in its wake.

Spy tensed. Not at the pained little noise that escaped the Sniper, or the way he desperately to wriggle out of range of the knife. No, what concerned him was the line Mr White had just cut along. He recognised the old scar he'd left there months ago. It'd just been a respawn glitch, not something he'd done on purpose. But it had left a very distinctive mark.

Like most of the classes in this pointless little war, the two snipers had been chosen for how remarkable similar they were in skill and appearance. But that scar was an easy way of telling the two apart.

Mr White grinned at Spy's worried face. The dull light glittered on two gold false teeth. For a moment Spy thought the man had worked it out and was going to give up and move onto him next. But then Mr White said, 'It's not fun, is it, watching someone you care about getting hurt?'

Of course. The man _expected_ him to be worried. It would have been far more suspicious if he'd looked completely unconcerned about the current situation. He could do this. He could give the impression of being someone who actually cared about the BLU Sniper getting injured. It was going to take a good bit of acting, but he could do it.

'So, Mr Conover. This is where the questions start. I would appreciate if if you were to give me the answers sooner rather than later, on account of your friend here.'

He patted Sniper on the shoulder. Sniper scowled at him, blood streaming down the left side of his face.

'However, I am a patient man. A patient man with a lot of time on his hands.'

He angled his knife back towards the marksman threateningly.

'What is "RED"?'

Spy stayed silent, fighting back to urge to give the snarky answer of, 'A colour.'

Mr White made a disapproving little humming noise. He reached down and took a fistful of Sniper's shirt in his left hand, pulling the material taut. Then he slipped the knife under the top button and sliced through the thread keeping it in place. Sniper made an angry, growling sound behind the gag as the rest of the buttons were cut away one by one. Mr White yanked the fabric away to each side, exposing the marksman's front.

Spy knew exactly why he'd done that. A shirt might not offer any kind of protection against knives, but psychologically there was just something so much more vulnerable about bare flesh.

The Sniper was breathing hard, his rib cage visibly rising and falling in the cold air.

An ugly, jagged white scar dragged across his torso from belly to armpit. Mr White pressed his knife against it. He kept himself off to one side to allow Spy a good view of his every move.

'I'll ask you a second time, what is RED?'

Spy forced a tense look across his face, his jaw clenched. But he said nothing.

'What is RED?' Mr White dug the tip of the knife into Sniper's belly, making him flinch.

'What is RED and who is in charge of it?'

He pulled the knife slowly across the scar, leaving behind a shallow, even cut.

'What is RED and what is it's connection to the company?'

Sniper tried to speak through his gag,. Panic clear even if his words werent. It sounded to Spy as though he was trying to give up the answers himself. Spy needed to distract Mr White.

'I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about.'

'No?' Cold eyes flicked back to him.

'No, none at all. I think you must have made a mistake. I have no idea why you've decided it was a good idea to kidnap my friend and I.'

'Hmmm, really?' Mr White seemed to consider the possibility for a moment.

Then, without warning, he slammed the knife straight into Sniper's thigh.

The marksman jerked against his bonds with a muffled howl of pain.

Something flipped over in Spy's chest at the sound. Even though it was coming from the BLU Sniper. Even though he hated the man.

Mr White left his knife there, blood rapidly staining the material around it. The Sniper closed his eyes tight and took great steadying breaths.

Spy watched the large man approach him warily. Though not as broad as Heavy, there was no doubt that Mr White had the strength to simply crush Spy to death if he so wished.

'Do you still believe that I might have made some kind of mistake?'

Spy fought the urge to lick his lips nervously.

'Well, it's-it's possible,' he said.

'I've told you already Mr Conover that I am a very patient man. I am happy for it to take as long as needs be to get you to accept that I know exactly who you two are. RED Spy. RED Sniper.'

Behind him, the BLU Sniper made an angry noise. Mr White ignored it.

Spy was still trying to work out exactly how much this man knew. So. The company's name. The larger parent company they were linked to, but not the actual link itself. His and his partner's titles. What else?

Clearly he knew nothing about the existence of BLU, or the Sniper's shirt would have given away that he had the wrong man.

'Really, there's been some kind of mix-up. I'm sure my friend here will agree.'

'Mmpth!'

It was a good thing Mr White didn't have a Pyro with him. Spy was sure they would have been able to understand everything the Sniper was trying to say.

'There's been some kind of mix-up, has there?' Mr White said, turning back to the BLU. Sniper nodded vigorously and then winced. His head must still be hurting him.

The interrogator approached him with slow, steady steps. Sniper cringed into his seat, trying to make his lanky frame as small as possible.

Personally, Spy thought he was making a bit of a fuss over nothing. The marksman had received worse injuries in the past. Spy should know, he'd given him many of them. There'd be someone here to rescue them soon, and even if there wasn't, there was always respawn.

The one problem with that though, would be the way the system whisked bodies away a couple of minutes after death. Respawn was a company secret and there'd be hell to pay if either of them were involved in it getting leaked to another organisation.

Mr White reached Sniper and casually leant an elbow against his shoulder. Beneath him, Sniper tried to throw him off, but could little more than hunch his shoulders up. The interrogator leaned forward and grasped the knife handle. And twisted. Sniper whimpered, the sound rising in pitch and volume as Mr white continued to turn the blade in his leg.

Spy looked away. He spotted a look of discomfort flash across the face of one of the men standing across from him. They probably couldn't even see what was happening from where they were, and it was still getting to one of them.

So it was all right for Spy to be starting to feel a little sick himself.

Mr White slowly eased the short knife back out of Sniper's leg. And then stabbed it straight into his shoulder. The Marksman's eyes bulged, but there was no sound from him this time. Little tremors ran down his body like the aftershocks that follow an earthquake. He clenched and unclenched his right hand against the pain, not moving the other at all because of the steel sticking out of his left shoulder blade.

The movement caught Mr White's attention. His gaze travelled from it, back over to Spy. There was an unpleasant smile on his thin lips as he asked, 'Would you like me to cut off one of his fingers next?'

'Non,' Spy said straight away, without pausing to think over his answer.

'Non?' Mr White repeated, his smile growing wider. 'Why, Mr Conover, you never told me you were French.'

Spy bit back a curse. He hated giving away information. Of course, he'd been posing as an American for his cover. Well, at least that indicated that Mr White didn't know nearly as much as he was trying to give the impression that he did.

'If not his fingers, then why not something else? His nose perhaps? Or his ears? Or why not allow me to pluck one of his eyes out for you?'

'I would rather you didn't.' And Spy found that he meant it. To take a Sniper's eyes, even when there was respawn... even he himself would never stoop so low. In all their close fights, Spy had only ever once blinded the Sniper, and that had been by accident.

The odd yowling sound he'd made had amused Spy at the time, as had his frantic pawing at his eyes and his surroundings. Eventually though he'd become bored of the Sniper's colourful swearing and hollow threats as he'd swung his kukri wildly around the room, hitting nothing but walls. Spy had stepped in while the Sniper was busy trying to dislodge his weapon for a third time, and used his balisong to send the marksman off to be reunited with his sight in respawn. Spy had been intending to share the story with the rest of the team, to give them all something to laugh about. But the more he'd thought about it, and the more he'd pictured the distraught look on the Sniper's ruined face, the more uncomfortable he'd felt about his actions. Of course, he'd gone on to mock the BLU with it, giving hammy re-enactments of the Sniper's distress whenever he got the chance. But he never told anyone else about it. And he never blinded his enemy again.

'Hmm. You'd rather I didn't?' Mr White said. 'Only "rather"? How apathetic of you. You clearly don't care very much for your partner. Now, if your roles had been reversed, do you think he would just sit back and let you suffer?'

Spy had to fight the urge to laugh. Yes, and he'd probably request popcorn. The BLU Sniper would love to watch while Spy got tortured. He was a violent, unprofessional and cruel man. Spy knew that.

Except. Here he was, panting with pain, a knife protruding from his shoulder and blood running down his face, belly and leg. All because it suited Spy to keep up a lie.

The Sniper couldn't even hold it together enough to glare at Spy, his eyes too hazy and unfocused.

Mr White grabbed hold of a fistful of Sniper's hair and forced his head back against the top bar of the chair. He yanked the knife straight out of the marksman's shoulder, leaving a spatter of blood down his front, and pressed the blade against the tender flesh just below his right eye.

'Don't,' Spy said, his voice sounding oddly hoarse.

'What is RED?'

The Sniper screwed his eyes up tight.

'Don't.'

'Who runs it?'

The Sniper's hands clenched around the wooden arm rests.

'What is its connection to ?'

'Don't!'

The Sniper jerked.

Blood poured down his cheek like tears.

'What. Is. RED?'

'DON'T!'

The knife moved away.

The Sniper went limp, staring up at the ceiling. He took deep, shuddering breaths, ragged and uneven. A strange sound caught in the back of his throat. And again. And again.

He was sobbing. The BLU Sniper was sobbing. That wasn't right. That wasn't allowed to happen. Spy could handle the Sniper was he was angry or in pain or gloating over a kill. But he couldn't handle _this._ For someone who spent so much time obsessing over trying to dominate the Sniper as often as he could, to see him like this, to see him finally truly _broken_ should have been a dream come true. Instead he just felt sickened and disorientated.

'Here is one last chance. One last chance to save your partner's sight. Tell me, what does have to do with RED?'

Spy's jaw clenched. He was frozen with indecision. _It's just the BLU Sniper,_ Spy reminded himself. _He doesn't matter._

He latched tightly on to that thought. _He's just the BLU Sniper. He's an ugly, overgrown, lanky, piss-throwing bastard who-who's sobbing with pain and fear._

It wasn't a heartbreaking sight, it was pathetic, Spy tried to convince himself. Utterly pathetic. He'd never seen the Sniper fall apart like this before. Where was his strength? His resolve? His dignity? He was acting as though this was the end. As though this wasn't just temporarily pain that would all be whisked away once respawn claimed him. As though he didn't even know-

 _Oh._

He didn't know.

'They've extended the range,' Spy blurted out, staring fixedly at the BLU Sniper.

'Of what?' Mr White snapped, eyes narrowed.

'Of hats,' Spy said.

'Of hats.'

'Yes, hats. 's recently extended it's range of hats and RED's been buying them up,' Spy explained weakly, feeling as though he might burst out laughing at his own wild lie any second now. Usually he was better at thinking them up than this, but he'd been too busy looking for signs of understanding on the BLU's face to come up with anything more convincing.

 _Come on, come on, come on. Understand._

The company had extended the range of respawn indefinitely since the RED Spy and Sniper begun their dangerous missions together. What he'd forgotten was that the Administrator had warned them that this wasn't intended to be common knowledge. The more discouragement the two teams had from getting into violent fights in the middle of town, the better. The repair bills had started to become ridiculous.

So the BLU had every reason to believe that this time, he really was bleeding to death, and that any damage to his eyes would be permanent even if he somehow managed to survive.

'You know,' Mr White said conversationally, turning the little knife over and over in his free hand, the other still holding Sniper by his hair. 'I really _hate_ being lied to. You have no one to blame for this but yourself.'

'Don't!' Spy said again, but it was too late.

He couldn't look.

He couldn't look.

Spy screwed up his eyes and turned his head away, every muscle tensing against his restraints.

But there was no blocking out the scream. The shocked, piercing scream that burst through the fabric gagging the Sniper. Or the violent jerks against his bonds, rattling the buckles and making the chair beneath him creak. Or the broken, gasping sobs that followed.

Spy's heart was pounding against his ribcage, a hard, tight ball of emotion he couldn't quite identify trapped alongside it in his chest.

'You connard,' he gasped. 'You bastard, you-'

'Are you going to tell me what I want to know?' Mr White interrupted. He pulled a handkerchief from his suit pocket and proceeded to wipe the handle of his knife clean, ignoring the whimpering, squirming wreck of a man beneath him.

Spy swallowed. 'No.' He admitted, his voice sounded hollow. 'No I'm not.'

 _There's still respawn. Sniper has to understand now. There's still respawn. There's no point giving up company secrets when there's respawn to catch us both._

'Right. Well then, I think the best course of action will be to move on to a much more direct approach, don't you think?' He sounded annoyed now, the words hissed out between his teeth.

'Meaning that we have no further use for your friend.'

Spy glanced up. The Sniper was slumped across from him, still making weak sounds of distress. His one good eye flickered open and fell on Spy, but the Frenchman wasn't sure if he was even really seeing him. And he still had no idea if the marksman understood about respawn.

He looked away, unable to stand the sight of blood and fluid dripping from the Sniper's ruined eye.

Out of the corner of his peripheral vision he watched the first vicious stab. And then the second, and then the third, and then more and more until he lost track. Each one into the Sniper's unprotected belly.

Spy winced. He knew exactly now excruciating stomach wounds were. On top of the usual pain, stomach acid could leak out, eating away at your wounds and poisoning your body from the inside.

At least it wouldn't be long now. With this amount of damage, the Sniper would be dead within minutes. Respawn would claim him. He'd return whole and unharmed. And maybe he'd be nice enough to raise the alarm and get someone to come rescue Spy. Though he doubted it. He'd sat back and done nothing while the BLU was tortured, so it would only be fair for him to get the same treatment in return.

Behind the Sniper, one of the two guards stumbled backwards and collapsed to the ground. For a moment Spy thought the torture must have finally got to him, making him faint. Then the other man crumpled to the ground.

Mr White whirled around, teeth bared. Spy got a moment to appreciate the glitter of his gold fillings, the alarm in his eyes and the little red dot on his forehead, before his head snapped back. Mr White collapsed down, unmoving. Dead.

'You having fun down there mate?' a voice called to Spy. He twisted around until he caught sight of a tiny grill set into the corner of the wall behind him.

'What took you so long?' he asked, sourly.

'Took 'em ages to notice you were missing and then I had some trouble with the other blokes guarding this place. You hurt?'

'Non.'

The RED Sniper sighed with relief. 'I'll be with you in a jiffy. Don't go anywhere!' he called, his voice already sounding further away.

Spy tugged against his restraints impatiently as he waited for his Sniper to reappear. The BLU marksman sat slumped across from him, his breathing stuttering and laboured. He hadn't even responded to the sounds of rescue. Then again, this rescue wasn't for him.

Loud footsteps clattered down the stairs. The RED Sniper burst into the room and headed straight for Spy. He crouched down next to him and began to tug loose the bonds tying him to the chair. Spy let out a sigh of relief as the one across his chest fell away. Once his right arm was free he pulled at the buckle on the left while Sniper freed his legs.

'Who's that poor son of a bitch?' he asked, jerking his head towards the dying man.

'BLU Sniper.'

'What?' He did a double take. 'Fucking hell, you're right. Christ. I didn't even recognise him. What the hell's he doing here?'

'They made a mistake,' Spy explained as he pried himself gingerly out of his chair, rubbing at his chaffed wrists. 'They thought they'd got you and were trying to torture him to get answers out of me.'

The RED Sniper burst out laughing. The other flinched weakly at the unexpected sound.

'Yes, that worked about as well as you would imagine.'

'Well, better him than me!'

'Oui.'

'Here's your stuff, mate. Killed one of the guards while he was busy trying to do tricks with your balisong.'

'Thank you, Sniper.'

'Right, lets get out of here and report back. Just gonna warn you though, the Administrator is blaming you entirely for getting yourself kidnapped.'

Spy sighed. 'Of course she is.'

He paused next to the BLU Sniper.

'Come on.'

'One moment.'

'What you doing? Just leave the BLU, he's gonna be dead soon anyway.'

'Yes, I know,' Spy said, looking down at the broken man in front of him. 'But BLU or not, it's my fault he ended up like this. The least I can do is give him a mercy kill.'

The RED Sniper snorted and rolled his eyes.

'It's the professional thing to do,' Spy pointed out. He tugged the strap across the BLU Sniper's chest free and heard him moan. Whether it was from relief or further pain, it was hard to tell. He eased the man forward a little to expose his back.

'Desole,' the Spy whispered as he sunk his blade into the Sniper's spine. And for once, he meant it. It was a clean, quick stab from a wickedly sharp knife. One that wasn't intended to maim, but to kill.

* * *

Two nights later, a wealthy American businessman by the name of Francis Wilhelm sat on the leather couch in his stylishly modern lounge, worrying. Four of his... _colleagues_ had been missing for over twenty four hours now, presumed dead. It was the kind of thing that really wasn't good for his nerves, so he drank and fretted and tried to concentrate on trashy reality TV.

Francis Wilhelm was safe. Safe in his safe house. No one knew he was here. No one could hurt him.

The doorbell rang, almost making him scream.

Sweating slightly in his designer jacket, Francis rushed over to his front door. His guards knew not to let anyone past the gate, what on earth was going on? He peered through the eyehole down at the figure standing on his porch. It was a pretty, if demurely dressed, young woman in purple. She was clutching a clipboard to her chest and looking around at the garden and grounds nervously.

Francis shook his head ruefully. To think he'd been worried it was going to be an assassin.

He swept open the door. 'Hello there darling,' he said, fixing his most charming smile in place. 'How can I help you today?'

The young lady smiled back at him. 'Hello, I'm from the council. Nothing to worry about, I've just been sent to check you are up to date with come local legislation that may have come through while you were away.'

'Of course, of course. Why don't you come in?'

'Oh thank you,' the woman said. 'I was worried you were going to slam the door in my face. Your security guards said you might not want to talk to me.'

'Me? No! I could never do that to a pretty lady.'

She giggled loudly, drawing his attention away from the blue dot crawling up his chest. It was slightly unsteady. Just a little shaky. But it wasn't about to miss its mark.


End file.
